Estel e Gûr
by Halfelven hero
Summary: Sindarin for "Hope and Heart". Galadriel and Celeborn say goodbye at the havens of Cirdan.


It was two hours before Arien's vessel rose over the horizon, when a chamber-maiden with hair the color of falling autumn leaves roused Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien. Though she wore full mail and weapons, she walked with light footsteps toward her Lord's bed, and she gently touched his shoulder.

"Arise, my Lord," her voice was soft. "Arise. It is time for you to depart from these fair havens, and return to your own realm. The flower of Telperion rises early, and we must away."

The elven lord rubbed his eyes and spoke, his rich baritone voice hazy with the gentle lace of sleep. "Mae Govannen, my fair Lindirel. Why do you stand with spear, blade and bow at the ready? Has Sauron not been defeated, and the ways of Middle Earth been made safe forever? And why do you rouse me at this early hour? You say it is time for us to leave? It is but the morning, and the last ship, bearing my Lady and my love is not set to sail until Laurelin's petals touch the western sea. Or else I have succumbed to my weariness, and slept as the white ship passed along the lost road?"

"She stands so armed, my Lord, because there are still lost dangers that wander the roads of Middle Earth, and it would bode ill to suffer an egregious defeat by being over-confident and ill-prepared."

Lady Galadriel entered the chamber, wearing robes of a gentle, white cloth that was the product of her own hands. Something had changed in her appearance, she no longer radiated power and magic, but appeared simple, pastoral. That was expected; for there was no longer a light in the white jewel that rested upon her right hand.

As she stepped into the room, the chamber-maid Lindirel curtsied deeply, but Galadriel bade her stand with a gentle wave of her hand. "I am no longer Lady Galadriel, mistress of Lórien and keeper of Nenya." She paused. "I am . . . just Galadriel."

"My apologies, my lady." She bowed herself out of the room, and stood sentinel in the doorway, with her spear crossed against the entrance.

"As for her waking you up at such an early hour, the fault is mine," Galadriel said softly, standing a distance away from her spouse, who was now sitting upright in his bed. "You should return to your realm, Lord Celeborn, where dire matters await." Galadriel sat down on the bed, and looked in his eyes.

"Not my realm," Celeborn said, "Our realm, or perhaps, even more accurately, your realm. You were always the one that wanted a land to call your own."

Galadriel acted as though she had not heard him. "What will you be able to do come nightfall, except wave with a forlorn look etched in your face, as Círdan's swan carries me upon the Lost Road? No, it is better for you to leave now."

"I would... say goodbye to you. One last time."

Galadriel smiled, but it was a sad smile, barely a turn of the lips to indicate her being humored. "This is not a goodbye, Celeborn. I am returning to face the judgment that I've offset for years beyond even my own counting. I must stand before the thrones of the Valar and beg mercy, for actions that only remain as memories within my mind."

"I do not think that is their reason for summoning you," Celeborn said. "It is time... it is time for the old hurts to be mended. What Fëanor's and his sons did not understand is that the future is not set in stone, and occasionally, all will deviate from the path of righteousness. Then, it is not only the task of the wrong to make amends, but the wronged must also offer the hand of forgiveness. That, I think is the aim of the Valar. They cannot expect you to make amends for wrongs that you had no hand in. I cannot be certain, though, for I am not of the Ainur."

Galadriel thought for a moment. "Still . . . I am loathe to go. I will admit, had the summons not come from one so mighty as Mandos, I would linger still in Middle Earth, and diminish into the shadows, rather than cross the sea and be held, in thought if not in word, as the last of a band of fools, who received their just reward -- extinction."

Celeborn was quiet. "The last of a band of fools. I think not. Galadriel, the Valar mean to reward you! For ages beyond count, you, and those of your kin, have been banned from the Western Isles. By your hand and your guidance, Sauron's downfall came. They are remitting your ban."

"Remitting the ban -- ha!" Galadriel laughed. "What became of this ban when Celebrian sailed over the sea, her insides slowly burning with the fey goblin-poison?"

"Galadriel," he was calm, "Cease the histrionics. You know of Celebrian's circumstances. The Valar cannot deny comfort and wellness to any of the firstborn. What would they do? Tie her down, dying, in the ship in whence she came, never to rest in peace nor to return to all that she left behind?"

Galadriel was silent for a full minute. "What kind . . . what kind of reward is this?" she asked, when she spoke like this. "If their summons are, as you say, a reward, what reward is it to leave behind my husband, my realm, my people, behind, and leave behind a world where I was a queen, to spend the rest of time in a world where I will be shunned?"

"They will not shun you, but praise you! Galadriel, who wears the remnants of Nenya on her finger! Galadriel, who alone of all the rebels and kin-slayers survived to the see end of the third age of this world! Galadriel, Leader of the White Council that smote the mightiest of Morgoth's fiends!

"All things must come to an end. So has the time of your kingdom. Depart gracefully after a long reign. Long will the earth remember your touch! The country of the Halflings, their Shire, bears the fruitfulness of Galadriel's blessing, as sure as if you had planted the flowers and shrubs yourselves! They say that in the heart of their land grows the mallorn-sapling that you gifted them.

"As for us . . . our love. That will not come to an end. The Valar have not sent for me, and I am loathe to cross the sea. But one day, I will cross the sea, and hold you in my arms again."

"In what ship?" Galadriel scoffed. "I sense . . . that this will be Círdan's end as well."

"There are other shipwrights at these havens," was his dry response. "But even so, I do not see him crossing the sea. He was born at the beginning, and he has not stepped foot in the Blessed Realm in all that time. He will not leave these mortal lands until the very end. There are more elves upon this hither shore to still cross the sea. It is his destiny to be both the first and the last."

"This does not feel right." Galadriel lowered her head to his chest, and shed silent tears. "Without you existence would simply be seconds, stretching into eternity, the passage of Arien and Tilionbeing not days, but lifetimes."

"That is how it must be. It is the will of Eru."

They sat thus for hours, not Lord and Lady, but simply man and beloved, sad and fearful of being apart for an undetermined amount of time. Tears fell from both of their eyes, but at the end, there were smiles, albeit sad smiles, as well.

"_Estel e gûr_," he whispered in her ear, when at last the time came for them to part. "Hope and heart." His hand brushed against her cheek, tracing the soft contours of her face. "I will give you what you wish, my lady. I shall depart now. Not to where our home is, for home is where our hearts are, and my heart travels with yours, across that bitter sea, but back to what was once our realm. Farewell, Galadriel. Though I have set eyes upon the famed Lùthien, still, I would choose you. Farewell."

Within a short period of time, his entourage was made ready to go. And as he left the gates of Mithlond, the last thing he saw was her, waving goodbye in the distance, as he traveled the long road back to Lothlórien.


End file.
